


Welcome to Ostagar

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: When Life Gives You a Blight ... [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:56:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5179334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regan Cousland’s been walking for days with just her mabari, Jasper, and Grey Warden, Duncan, for company.  They’d finally reached Ostagar.  Now, she has things to do, people to find, and Wardens to join.  Just another day, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to Ostagar

Did the Maker hate her or something?  Was he punishing her for some slight she wasn’t aware she’d committed?  Her parents, her entire house, had been slaughtered.  Her brother … the only _human_ family member she had left, was gone, somewhere in the Korkari wilds, and no one knew where.  Cailan had promised that Howe would not profit from his actions, but she knew the king was not the most reliable at following through.  And now, she was in a strange place, all but alone.  At least Jasper hadn’t abandoned her … not completely; he was currently plodding along after Duncan, casting occasional glances back at her. 

She took a moment to try and clear her head.  The trek from Highever had been … rough.  They couldn’t get to the horses so their only choice had been on foot.  Maker that had been a _long_ walk.  And uncomfortable too; at least for the first two days – she had been absolutely silent, save for crying at night.  Duncan had tried his best to be comforting, and she had clung to him more than she wanted to admit, but she still felt like … like something had been ripped from her.  At least she’d started opening up in the last days of their trek.  She leaned on the least crumbled part of the bridge she could find and sighed.  “Get a move on, young lady,” she muttered to herself.  “Can’t spend all day staring out at the trees, you foolish girl.”  And so, she headed off to try and just … deal.

She wandered, unsure where to go.  Duncan had instructed her to find another warden … _one_ warden in a sea of who-knew-how-many.  Find _one_ warden that she had never seen before, had no clue what he looked like, or even where to start.  So she just … wandered, soon passing what was obviously the royal tent, and then stumbling, quite literally, over Loghain’s tent.  She wasn’t paying attention, still lost in her own head, and tripped over one of the tent pegs.  So much grace on the practice field, and she’s felled by a bloody tent stake – _perfect_.  Of course, she couldn’t do so without an audience; Loghain exited the tent just in time to catch her.  Stammered apologies followed by a hurried explanation of a mind distracted by her slaughtered family were quietly accepted.  She couldn’t get away quick enough for comfort.

After asking countless runners, soldiers, healers and the quartermaster, she _finally_ came across the warden she was sent to collect.  Of course, he was in the middle of what looked to be a heated discussion with what she could only assume was a mage.  She stood quietly, looking the pair over.  The mage, she didn’t particularly care about – he looked cranky, in foul humor, and she idly wondered if he was going to cast some sort of spell on the younger man.  The other one though, the warden, looked younger than her brother and didn’t seem worried in the slightest about the possibility of magical retaliation.  She looked away quickly when he looked up and noticed her watching.

“You know,” the young man sighed as he watched the angry mage stalk away.  “One good thing about the Blight is how it brings everyone together.”

That was all it took to shatter the strained picture of perfect control she’d maintained.  Something so innocuous, a comment so … unexpected that she just broke into giggles.  She didn’t know why, couldn’t explain it.  But here she was, doubled over with a case of the giggles, eyes actually watering.  When she could finally speak again, she found herself saying, “You are a very strange man,” and meaning it in the very best way possible.  

Well, that hadn’t been the response he was expecting.  He grinned, offered a hand to what he was noticing to be an attractive enough young woman – athletic build from what he could see, red hair pulled into a ponytail, brilliant green eyes, soft-looking lips curled into a teasing smile.  “You’re not the first woman to tell me that.  Probably won’t be the last either, to be honest.”  She looked … well, familiar wasn’t _quite_ the word he wanted, but it would do.  It took several more minutes of pleasant conversation before it finally sunk in.  He smacked his forehead as the realization hit him, before remembering he was wearing armor.  “Ow,” he muttered.  “Remind me not to do that.”  Trying to ignore her smile, he ran his fingers through his hair.  “You’re Duncan’s new recruit from Highever, right?  His description didn’t do you justice.”

She flushed slightly, looked away.  She still missed, still loved, Rory.  It’d only been a few days.  Was she that desperate for attention?  “I … I’m sure his description was perfectly adequate.”  She kept her tone quiet, even.  She glanced down at herself and sighed.  “I’m sure his note said something like ‘Recruit is female.  Decent with short blades, don’t let her near a shield.  Will be covered in grime and wearing stained tunic.  Hair likely to be a fright.  Prone to randomly break into fits of giggles for no reason.’”

“Well, he _did_ mention the blades … and the hair,” Alistair conceded, chuckling.  “Left out the bit about being a female with the giggles, though.”  He dodged a half-hearted smack and rubbed the back of his neck.  “Truthfully, his message focused far more on your skills than appearance.  He _did_ say you’d likely look like you’d been walking for days.  Sorry I didn’t recognize you sooner.”

“No harm done.  I didn’t really expect _anyone_ to recognize me anyway.”

Not normally one to be _that_ quick on the uptake, Alistair got the feeling there was a story there, but one she didn’t want to tell, so he let the matter drop for now.  At least she didn’t seem angry – just sad.  “You didn’t exactly catch me at my best, there with the mage.”  He knew he wasn’t making much sense in his attempt to fight off awkward silence, but she was smiling at him again.  She was pretty when she smiled.  “Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Alistair, junior Grey Warden.”

“Regan.”  She extended a hand, grasping his as he reached for the back of his neck again and shaking it.  “Pleased to meet you, Alistair.”  She had to fight back a chuckle at the surprised look on his face; he hadn’t expected the contact, it seemed.  

He hadn’t expected her to move so quickly, to grab his hand in a grip that was firm but not uncomfortably so.  He also hadn’t expected to see a … a twinkle in her eye as she smiled at him.  He was equally surprised at the brief flutter he felt inside at the contact.  Must be his imagination, right?

“So what was that … discussion … about, anyway?  I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”  She released her hold on his hand and let her own drift to her belt, thumb slipping between her hip and the trousers.

He sighed softly.  He would have preferred she not see that, or not remembered at least.  But how could one forget being practically shoved out of the way by a man in a dress?  The question was: could he explain it without sounding like an idiot?  The answer: probably not.  “The Circle of Magi is here at King Cailan’s request, and the Chantry doesn’t like that one bit.”  He wondered how much detail he should include, wondered if she’d be happy with that little of an explanation.  Judging by the expectant look on her face, he doubted it.  “Puts me in an awkward position, since I was once a templar … or training to be a templar.

“I’m sure the Revered Mother meant it as an insult, sending me to deliver the message to the mages, and _that_ mage picked right up on it.”  He shrugged, remembering how he had _tried_ to get out of the errand, and how miserably he failed.  “I never would have agreed to play errand boy, but Duncan says we’re all to get along.”  He glanced over his shoulder at a small collection of chantry sisters nearby and sighed.  “Apparently they didn’t get the same speech.”

“We could go tell them that, now,” she offered, not bothering to hide the teasing smile and earning a near fearful shake of the head in response.  “You _sure_?  I think I see the one that was up here earlier just over there.  I’m sure he’d love to continue your discussion.”  It felt … good to just laugh a little, not think about the events of the past several days.  She wasn’t sure what it was about him, but it was almost like she wanted to smile just being around him.  “At any rate, I look forward to traveling with you.”

He looked … surprised.  His hand flew to the back of his head to have something to do.  He couldn’t stop his eyes from landing on that smile first, then moving to her eyes.  There was that twinkle again, and that flutter in his stomach.  Maybe he was just getting sick?  “You … do?”  For as long as he could remember, until Duncan came along, most people had done their best to be partnered with _anyone_ else.  “That’s a switch.”

“Yes, I do.”  Her reply was accompanied by a gentle hand on his shoulder and a warm smile.  “Remember, I’ve spent the last several days walking … with no one but Duncan and my mabari.”  She shrugged, awkwardly noticing her hand was still on his arm.  She pulled her hand back slowly, feeling her ears start to burn.  “I … um, right … anyway, Duncan said … I should come collect you before this … Joining thing?”

            ~~~~~~~~~      ~~~~~~~~~      ~~~~~~~~~      ~~~~~~~~~      ~~~~~~~~~      ~~~~~~~~~      ~~~~~~~~~      ~~~~~~~~~      ~~~~~~~~~      ~~~~~~~~~ 

“What could be better than a walk through the woods,” Regan muttered, pulling her boot free from the surrounding muck for the fifth time that afternoon.  “No one said the wilds were more swamp than forest.”  The men slogging along behind her echoed the sentiment, one sounding much like Oren after a long day outside.  Why was she leading again?  It wasn’t like _she_ had a clue where these warden treaties were.  

She couldn’t decide if Alistair was trying to be cute, to make her smile, or really just _that_ bad at reading a map.  He held it out, turned it one way and then the other, squinting or closing an eye each time.  The teasing smile on his face led her to believe it was the former, and if it hadn’t been for the near constant losing of her boots, she probably would have laughed.  They’d filled the necessary vials, and a few extra, with darkspawn blood.  Each vial was wrapped in a length of cloth and packed carefully into a pouch on Alistair’s belt.  Now all they needed to do was find the treaties.

“You look familiar, my lady,” Ser Jory piped up as she paused, again, to free a boot.  “Have you ever traveled to Highever?”

Regan didn’t bother hiding a smirk as she scraped as much of the muck off her boot as possible.  Why she was bothering, she didn’t really know; it was just going to get stuck again.  “I … have been known to spend a day or two with the teyrn and his wife,” she replied, all but biting her lip as she tried not to either laugh or cry; she didn’t know which would be worse.  She’d recognized him instantly – one of the knights who had been assigned to Fergus.  He was skilled enough with the blade and shield, but according to Ser Andrew, he was somewhat … lacking mettle.  That he didn’t recognize her beyond looking familiar didn’t bother her; not all the knights in her father’s service spent a lot of time in her company.  “Let’s get a move on.”  If they kept moving, it was less likely that she would say, do, or think about something that would make her remember home again.

Alistair watched as she led the small group through the area.  He’d been impressed with her skills thus far.  She had decent control over her blades and even the short-bow she’d picked up somewhere.  She’ was pretty good at sneaking around as well; something that struck him as odd for a woman of her height – she stood nearly as tall as him, and he was horrible at sneaking about.  But she seemed to have no trouble at all.  

Of course, her skill didn’t necessarily mean she escaped every battle unharmed.  He noticed a couple broken off arrows sticking out of her armor, and one that seemed to have taken root in her thigh.  He could only assume that the thrill of the fight kept her from noticing.  He directed Daveth to take Ser Jory and scout ahead, wanting as few people around as possible, since he was fairly certain he’d manage to make a fool of himself, again.  He approached, not realizing how little sound he was making until he snapped a twig beneath his boot.  Suddenly, a blade was flying at him and his shield was whipping around to knock the attack away and she was falling into the mud.

“Don’t you know it’s not safe to go sneaking up on a woman who’s rooting around a corpse?” she winced.  She took several deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered sheepishly.  “I … um, I think you have something I need to get a closer look at.”  He realized as soon as the words passed his lips that he’d chosen poorly.  The look she gave him made him thankful her blades were sheathed.  “Maker’s breath, that came out wrong,” he apologized, feeling his cheeks grow warm.  “I … um, I mean ….”  He sighed, rubbing the back of his head.  “I just meant that you have an arrow in your leg and it should probably come out.”  He gestured awkwardly toward her thigh, trying not to stare.  Why did he want to stare?  Would she be mad if he stared?  Maker, he shouldn’t stare.

“I have … a what?” she asked, following his gesture until she noticed the broken shaft of an arrow sticking out of her flesh.  “Well, what do you know; it _is_ an arrow.”  She spoke as if it was nothing more than a stain on her trousers; reached down to nonchalantly pluck the offending item away….  “Maker’s flaming balls!” she snarled, immediately pulling her hand back and biting her lip.  She would _not_ cry just because of one lousy arrow.  She wouldn’t.  “That bloody hurts!”  And now that she knew it was there, every twitch brought a new jolt of pain.

“Here, let me help.”  Alistair dropped to his knees beside her, gingerly tracing fingers around the arrow.  “It doesn’t look like it’s in too deep.  I _should_ be able to … cut … it out.  He saw her eyes widen at the thought and wondered if he shouldn’t just take her back to the camp … let the healers have a go.  But … he didn’t quite know which way was back, and they were so close to the spot marked on the map ….

“You’ve done this before, then?”  

He could hear the uncertainty in the way her voice wavered, saw her try to mask the pain as her hands clenched at her sides.  “Once,” he admitted, trying not to let on how nervous he was.  “They survived.  Never could dance again, but he managed to keep all his limbs.”  He was relieved to hear her laugh as he pulled the small skinning dagger from his belt and removed his gauntlets.  “I … I’m sorry.  This is going to hurt.”

She shoved fingers in her hair, gripping fistfuls, trying not to actively pull.  Teeth clenched as she watched his blade slice her skin … watched his fingers gingerly delve into the wound.  Her breathing became unsteady, short harsh breaths through nostrils, afraid to open her mouth.  She’d scream it she opened her mouth.  She watched as he eased the head out, ignoring the tears forming in the corner of her eye.  

“Stay still,” Alistair soothed, pulling out supplies.  “I’m not sure if this will be enough.  When we get back to camp, you need to see the healer.”  He slathered a paste over the wound, and carefully started wrapping her leg, doing his best not to look how close to some areas his hand had to be.  He heard her breath hitch as his fingers brushed high on her thigh; felt his ears grow hot and his heart thrum in his chest.  “Finished.”  He secured the bandage as best he could and moved to shove himself away when her hand landed on his arm.

“Thank you.”  

“Ah, it was … it was nothing.”

        ~~~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~~~    ~~~~~~~~~~~~    

It was near dark when they made it back to camp, but Regan asked the others to go on ahead.  She still needed to see the healer _and_ she wanted to drop off the flower the kennel master needed to cure the mabari.  She politely declined Daveth’s offer of company and headed off, not noticing the slight smile that had crossed Alistair’s face.  Today had certainly not gone the way she would have expected.

Who would have imagined that some … chaisend witch had taken the treaties, or that they would have been willing to give them back so easily.  And the way the boys had been so fearful … it had seemed odd at the time, but the more she thought about it the more it kind of made sense.  She’d expected it from Jory, really; Andrew, and even Rory, had not been overly impressed by him.  It had come as quite a shock to hear he’d been recruited.  And Daveth had grown up with stories of witches who’d lived in the wilds and how they stole children away.  Even Alistair, who had been, by far, the easiest to talk to and least apprehensive about the task at hand, had been trained as a templar.  Naturally he’d be suspicious of anyone who could wield magic, _especially_ an apostate.  So why hadn’t she been more fearful?  She did her best to not let it bother her, taking care of the things she needed to do, then heading over to Duncan and the others.  It was time to see what this Joining was all about.


End file.
